


Dancing Needles

by mrs-storm-andrews (no_fucking_idea_for_a_name)



Series: Children Of The Crimson Sea (A Theonsa Series) [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Childhood Memories, Slow Burn, Theon's POV, Theonsa - Freeform, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_fucking_idea_for_a_name/pseuds/mrs-storm-andrews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Keep your head down as long as you're on my ship," the captain hissed, grabbing Theon's shoulder painfully. "It might not be a welcome return in every Ironborn's opinion and I surely won't risk my life for you. This time you would be truly lost, Theon Greyjoy."</p><p>Part of an AU-series, in which Theon and Sansa went to the Iron Islands after escaping from Winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing Needles

**Author's Note:**

> Although this story can be read as a separate work, I highly recommend to read the works of this series in given order, since they might refer to earlier works.

A bundle of black fabric got slammed hard into his chest. Theon flinched visibly - from the impact as well as from surprise. The captain hadn't been paying any attention to them since they had left Flint's Finger a couple of hours ago. "Needles and yarn," he said, tossing also a small leather bag at Theon, who barely managed to catch it. "For your lass," the captain elucidated in a bugged voice as if the heap of fabric and the leather bag would be self-explaining. "I don't want her to get bored and distract my crew. Keep her under deck. Keep yourself under deck, too. Rumours have roamed around the Iron Islands. Rumours...," his voice trailed off for a moment. "None of them are as bad as what I have seen in the kennels, when I accompanied Yara to rescue you. You can consider yourself lucky that it was me recognising you at the pier, before someone else could do so. So, keep your head down as long as you're on my ship," the captain hissed, grabbing Theon's shoulder painfully. "It might not be a welcome return in every Ironborn's opinion and I surely won't risk my life a second time. This time you would be truly lost, Theon Greyjoy."

These last words were still echoing dolorously through Theon's head when he went to the small and dirty chamber the captain had assigned to them earlier. He had heard these words before and they had turned out to be true. Each and every dark prediction ever being passed to Theon had become an even darker reality. _If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention._ He stopped dead in his tracks, breathing heavily. Theon felt his limbs go numb and his lungs go narrow. _He can't reach me_ , Theon tried to tell himself, _he can't, he can't. The master can't reach…_ His thoughts started to swirl uncontrollably. He couldn't stop himself from shivering, tears in his eyes.  
Suddenly, a harsh impact knocked him off his thoughts and almost off his feet, too. His rips ached, where the ironborn sailor had hit him with his armoured elbow while passing by. "Don't you stand in the fucking way, dickhead," he slurred. Theon muttered an excuse under his breath and opened the door to their chamber. 

Sansa sat on the edge of a small bunk. A faint oil lamp was illuminating her face. She looked so young, Theon thought. The light made her tender features appear utterly fragile.  
Studying her face, he could easily recognise the girl of nine years that had sat all alone in the Great Hall of Winterfell one day so many years ago. Arya had destroyed her needlework after a fight and Sansa had been crying her eyes out. Theon couldn't remember why he had approached her in the first place. He hadn't been very fond of the young Stark girls back then, since as a growing man he had only cared about girls of another age and another nature. But still, he had sat down next to her, asking why she was crying. She had told him and had shown him the ruined work. "That's not bad. What is it?", he had asked. She had looked at him angrily: "Can't you see? It's a direwolf!" - "All right, all right then," Theon had chuckled, "obviously, it _is_ a direwolf." Sansa had been still looking upset and in a softer voice he had said: "This is a decent piece of work, but I bet you can't make a kraken. They are hard to stitch. So many limbs. Only a true lady can craft a kraken embroidery, they say at the Iron Islands. Don't you look at me this way - that's just what I've heard," and with these words he had left her, giving her a final lopsided smile. Some weeks later he had found a cloak with his family sigil embroidered in his chamber. They had never spoken about it again, but a secret smile had been exchanged every time Theon had worn that cloak.

They spent the next days mostly under deck, trying to be as invisible as they could, since every time they left their chamber Theon could feel the crew staring at them, whispering secretly behind their backs. So, he tried to do just as he's been told by the captain.  
The days felt insanely long. The nights, too. He couldn't read, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't talk to Sansa for more than a couple of minutes straight - his mind was pacing restlessly. _He'll find us. No, he won't find us. He knows. The master knows everything. Theon Greyjoy, my name is Theon Greyjoy. He can't reach us. He can't reach us. Theon, not Reek._ Sometimes he was roaming around on deck at night and thought about just jumping into the pitch-black sea, but he couldn't do it. To be taken by the Drowned God was far too merciful for him to die. So he always went back into the chamber and curling himself up on the wooden floor, he eventually found some hours of restless sleep.   
The only thing that kept him halfway sane was watching Sansa sew. With each hour the thick fabric had turned more and more into a dress, but Theon didn't pay any attention to what she was actually sewing. He just kept his sea-coloured eyes fixed on her slender fingers. Watching the needles dance almost effortlessly slowed his thoughts down onto a level, where the world seemed to be at peace. She had spent hours sewing and he had spent hours watching her sew. Sansa had never said anything about it. She had just let him watch her with a worried look on her face.  
"It's done," Sansa suddenly said, shattering his fragile state of peacefulness.

He kept his eyes fixed on the wall while she was undressing behind him. Some years ago he would have tried to get a glimpse in secret, but today he was staring at the wall so fiercely as if his entire life depended on it. And in some way it did. She was the only thing left from that time, when he had still been Theon. With her gone, Theon would be gone, too. With her hating him, the only person, who did not despise Theon, would be gone, too. So, he tried his best to not be a burden to her, but he felt as if he was failing constantly.   
"It fits," he heard her saying, her voice bearing a slight trace of pride. He turned around slowly. The messy heap of black fabric had magically transformed into a simple, but elegant dress. High-necked, but feminine. Still, what caught Theon's attention the most was the direwolf she had embroidered on the front side. Mightily, gracefully, pridefully it spanned her breast. It was far more fine-grained than the sigil Sansa had showed him half a lifetime ago, but he still could recognize her neat style of stitching. He hadn't seen a direwolf sigil in years. The last one had been burned by his own men after the capture of Winterfell. Theon could feel tears stinging in his eyes. He turned his head rapidly, but still he could feel that Sansa was passing him one of these warm smiles he didn't deserve. "I hope, there will be an opportunity to wear it some day," she said softly. "There will." Theon faced her again, his eyes suddenly firm and clear. Sansa was obviously surprised by his affirmative response.  
He remembered the day she had left Winterfell to marry Joffrey Baratheon. But now, as she stood in front of him wearing her direwolf dress, she looked all majestic and he thought that Sansa was not born to get simply married to a king, she was born to be a queen herself. Her proud posture, her brave countenance - it all reminded him of Robb at that one day Theon had declared him his king, truly believing in his own pledge, not doubting his loyalty for even a second. And now, in this very moment on that rocking ship Theon secretly pledged allegiance to his Queen in the North, even though he doubted that he was capable of being of any service to her. But he would try. He wasn't truly lost yet. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I refer to the cloak Theon was wearing in the pilot episode. 
> 
> It was a horrible idea to choose past tense for my fics. It's so complicated to write. I'm really sorry for messing up the tenses so badly.


End file.
